The Belcourt Journals
by shortcurlytop99
Summary: A brief insight into Camille Belcourt's inner thoughts as she contemplates not only her struggling relationship with Magnus but also the very real possibility of losing her Warlock to a Shadowhunter and being pursued by a vindictive clan leader, Raphael.
1. Chapter 1

They had a lot in common; immortality being one of them. However; the attraction was more than that. Both of them were old, even for what they were, forever trapped in youth. Never moving forward. Misery does indeed love company. But for Camille Belcourt misery was not a word to be applied when with Magnus. She supposed this had to do with rejoicing in their own loneliness, watching those they knew and loved age and eventually die. But there was Magnus, always there and always the same, no matter how much time had passed.

Camille had many loves in her long life, most torrid and passionate and ended just as they begun; abrupt and emotional. She supposed that people like her (if the word _people_ still applied to her and Magnus) lived like there was no tomorrow so they could forget that the promise of tomorrow was eternal: you had to keep things interesting if you lived forever.

Things were different with Magnus: he was different, he moved with the times. Always adapting; something Camille admired about him. She herself felt like she was in a never ending merry go round; going round and round, like it was never going to stop.

She loved him, more than anyone else. Sometimes she questioned this though; was it love or lust? Need or just plain want? It hurt her to think of anyone but herself having him. It nearly killed her when she saw him with Lightwood. But with that was also shocking. Lightwood looked so much like Will; something Camille thought she should have known. Black hair and blue eyes were his favorite combination; she just thought he would've been more original. Geez; the kid was a look-a-like.

Camille always knew Magnus was…eccentric. Although dating another man was going a bit too far. Yes; she understood that Magnus always had interesting preferences. But really? A phouka was one thing, but a _Shadowhunter_? It disgusted Camille even to think of such a thing. Something had to be done. It had been a while and Camille could sympathize with Magnus misunderstanding her distance with ending the relationship. But that had _never_ been her intention. The truth was that she was ashamed. Ashamed for not having the courage to contact him even though she knew he was in New York. She was afraid of rejection, of having already hurting him too much with her sudden disappearance from London so many years ago. What did she have to show for it now? That cowardice was the reason she was in this awful situation. Where did she have to turn? Her own clan had turned against her; her own _fledging_ had betrayed her. Magnus had found another; she had never felt so alone in her whole life.

Camille was sick of being the victim. Enough was enough. She needed a plan; a plan to get back her old life. That meant gaining not only Magnus but also getting rid of Raphael and retrieving _her_ clan. Yes. Camille was taking control now; and all those who opposed this would have another thing coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Camille ventured her way into the vampire hotel, easily scaling the wall up onto the roof. The hotel looked the same, but something was a little different. She trailed her hand along the wall, her fingers were stained grey; dust. Camille rolled her eyes; she didn't remember all this filth when she was clan leader. As she strolled down the empty hallways she got a sense of foreboding. Where was everyone? She checked most of the rooms and the grand front rooms as well. No one.

Did they relocate? An unlikely possibility. It takes a while to find a suitable living arrangement for vampires and it took even a longer time to move everyone around. Camille circled the foyer a dozen times; still no one. For some reason the chandelier light was on. It gave off a dim glow. Well, there goes her wonderful plan of confronting Raphael. Just when she thought she should leave, a voice cut through the silence,

"Come back, Camille? You have been away a while." A figure emerged from the shadows. A slight boy, perhaps only sixteen, came into view. His complexion was pale like Camille's; his hair was curly and black. His eyes were indifferent and dark. Camille felt herself stiffen into a defensive pose: Raphael chuckled.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Camille. Unless, you mean to harm me first."

In full truth, Camille felt now more than ever the need to inflict painful harm on her little Mexican pain in the ass. But now was not the time to announce this course of action. With fluid grace, Camille straightened up. Raphael stood about ten feet away.

"You haven't change a bit. I'm surprised to see the clan survive this long under _your_ questionable leadership skills."

She could see the tightening of his jaw; a tell tale sign of his anger building.

"They're not here, you know. The clan. God knows where they wandered off to."

He was lying. He sent them away; somehow he knew she was coming. Probably hoping to clean up her body before anyone could suspect anything. He was walking now, with a panther-like grace too perfected for someone of his age, and Camille mimicked his movements. Soon she realizing he was circling her.

Camille resisted the urge to go right up to him and rip his annoying head off. If she was going to win, she was going to have to play this right.

"Raphael. Do you honestly believe you could chase me out of my own clan?" She noticed he looked slightly taken back by her change in topic. He shrugged,

"You weren't around for a while. I assumed,"

Camille laughed: it sounded like silver wind chimes,

"_I _am the leader, Raphael. Always was, always will be. No amount of scheming or plotting against me will change that."

She knew she was getting to him, she noticed he had clenched his hands into fists. She wondered if he was going to take a swing at her. Camille leaned against wall and internally winced. Her dress was going to be ruined thanks to that god damn filth. Couldn't Raphael at least sweep?

"Besides" she continued, trying to go for a relaxed air, "you couldn't even catch the Daylighter. Shame, Raphael, can't even capture a stupid fledging."

Raphael at first looked furious, but his expression died down to one of amusement,

"Oh, _right_" his voice was laden with sarcasm, impossible to ignore, "you caught him, didn't you, Camille? Wait, no, you didn't. I'm getting that mixed up with when you _tried_ and then failed."

Camille silently counted to ten.

"A small lapse in judgment."

"Something you're not a stranger to it seems,"

"I turned you, didn't I?"

That shut him up.

"Anyway; I'm giving you a choice. You leave and never come back and I won't tear your body limb from limb and then when I'm satisfied at your level of suffering, I'll stake you."

Raphael glared at her,

"_Estúpida__vaca, ¿Quién__te__crees__que__eres? Mi__clan__me__obedece.__no__se_."

Camille frowned. And swearing at her in Spanish was supposed to accomplish what exactly? Deciding to ignore his seemingly random tirade, she tilted her head to the side, considering,

"I don't think you'll be leader long if I tell the clave what you've been up to."

"What are you talking about?"

"Killing humans, _drinking_ humans, many unspeakable acts that I'm sure you have committed."

"You have no proof," his voice was hard and emotionless.

"I don't need proof. I just need the right people; I need to find the right strings to pull. And then like that," she snapped her fingers, "you'll be put to death and_ I'll_ be granted leniency."

It was like she flicked a switch. With speed that only a vampire could achieve, he had knocked her flat on the ground, trying to rip her throat out. Although Raphael was fast, Camille was faster. She flipped him off and slapped him, raking her fingernails along his face. She quickly sidled up the far wall; Raphael was snarling, his teeth bared.

Camille had her fangs out, ready in case he came any closer. She hadn't fought with another one of her kind for years. She was out of practice; this was evident when Raphael had closed in on her. Not biting her like she thought he would, he reached out and, grabbing hold of her arm with python-like tightness, threw her viciously across the room. Camille felt her head smack against the wall, stunning her for a second. But that second was too long. Raphael was on top of her, pinning her arms to her sides and taking a bite out of her neck. The pain was extreme and Camille bit back a scream. It would be no use to let Raphael know she was suffering. Instead she kicked out, just getting enough leverage to push him off. She pressed her hand against her neck, when she took it away, her pale hand was scarlet. If she didn't leave now, Raphael would finish her off.

There was one thing Camille was expert at; running away. She eyed the nearest exit and took off but only to just get there and feel something dig into her bicep and drag her back. She found herself inches away from a very pissed off Raphael. His normally blank face was twisted with rage. He had her pinned against him, threatening to crush her. Camille cast her eyes around, looking for a weapon. Frantically she searched the pockets of her dress; a thrill of glee ran through her when her hand made contact with something cool and slim.

Not thinking, but just acting, Camille took the unknown object out of her pocket and jabbed it into Raphael's neck. He screamed and clutched at the object interjected into what seemed like a vital artery: Camille was pleased to now see it was a pen. Not wasting anytime, Camille raced for the exit and made it this time. Too late did she realize her brilliant exit led to the roof of the hotel. Panic made her quick as she jumped off the side of the building. Landing was not difficult and, after regaining her balance, she ran as far as she could. Not bothering to look behind her. When Camille felt far enough away, she turned into an ally and pressed herself against the wall. Even though she didn't need to breathe, Camille found herself panting, fear and adrenaline pulsing through her.

That had _not_ worked out as she had hoped. Camille lifted her head to the sky and felt the sudden urge to scream. Great; now Raphael knew she was in the city and would no doubt search for her. Fine, she could accept that. Camille mentally moved onto another subject. There was plenty of time to dissect what had just happened and plan her next move as in regards to Raphael, but now was not the time. She would deal with Raphael last, she decided. Since tonight's attempt was pitiful. She needed allies; more of them. She was a fugitive in this city; Camille needed to make some new friends. She grinned at the prospect: time to start hunting.


End file.
